But her voice … he pushed the thought aside, and concentrated on the land coming into view ahead. By now, the sun was nearly half visible over the horizon, and streaks of rose and orange striped almost the entire sky. Night was no longer a protecting cloak.
As the minutes passed. Tombstone could feel the tension mount in the cockpit. It was a familiar sensation, but still fraught with all the fear and anxiety that going into combat always brought. He and Tomboy had been here before, done this time after time together, both over the Spratlys and the Aleutian Islands. Why should this occasion be any different? It wasn’t, he suspected; it was just the fact of their marriage that made it seem odd.
An odd silence hung in the cockpit as well, unalleviated by any tactical chatter from the secured radio or communication with other pilots. According to the radar, the furball to the southeast was still in frantic action, American pilots chasing the nimble MiGs across the sky, periodic flashes of increased radar detection indicating that another airplane had exploded into a massively reflexive ball.
American or Cuban there was no way to tell until the flash settled down and Tomboy could verify whether Or not the surviving blip showed IFF transmission.
As far as he could tell, it looked like the Americans were winning. An EMP would change that, knocking both the American and Cuban aircraft out of the sky more effectively than the smartest air-to-air weapon in either inventory.
“Tombstone. I think I’ve got it.” Tomboy’s voice sounded forced, but calm. “Look out at zero-nine-zero; see if you can see anything. It’s an intermittent blip on radar. Could be the UAV.”
Tombstone turned his head right and stared into the rising sun. Just occulting in front of it was a small, dark blip, barely more visible than a pinprick. The UAV he was almost sure of it. It was all the wrong shape, had all the wrong movements for a fighter aircraft. “I’ve got it. Yes, I think that’s it.”
“Good. I hold it inbound toward the same target area.
Speed Mach one-point-two, altitude five thousand feet.”
Tombstone nodded. That matched his visual identification. “So Batman’s going in with it.”
“Maybe. Remember, he’s still holding us on radar as well.
Did you secure the IFF?”
“No. So he’s at least got that to break our radar blip out of the pack. He knows where we are, and he knows his newest play toy is headed dead for us. This is one decision I can’t make for him.”
“Feet dry,” Tomboy announced, refocusing him on the mission. Tombstone nosed the Tomcat down, heading for the deck. He’d make his initial run at five hundred feet, see what intelligence he could gain from his first pass. Then, time permitting and depending on what Batman did with the UAV, he’d vector back in on a bombing run.
The command post was reportedly located under twenty feet of dirt, but the five-hundred-pounders at least had a chance of damaging it. Maybe fatally. It was better than losing all the aircraft currently airborne to EMP if the UAV held the warhead he suspected it did.
“Two minutes,” Tomboy said. She suggested a tiny course correction, which Tombstone promptly adopted.
Again, the odd silence descended on the cockpit. With nothing else to do except watch for antiaircraft fire and wonder if some prehistoric idiot armed with a Stinger would be sitting on a hill waiting for them.
Tombstone found odd pictures flashing into his mind. Tomboy, the first time he’d seen her, climbing into an aircraft. Her face at their wedding, brilliantly radiant. And later. Tomboy in bed, the small, voluptuous frame responding to his every touch, her passion rising to meet and, exceed his. He shook his head, let his mind linger one last time on the lush curves and smooth swells of her body, and then”Tomboy?
You’re not pregnant, are you?” There was horror in the voice, as much as he hated to have it there. If she were, and she hadn’t told him, then flying this mission was perhaps the most foolhardy thing she had ever done in her life. Her condition would require an evaluation by a flight surgeon before she could remain in flight status.
“No, you idiot, of course I’m not pregnant. What in the world gave you that idea?” Tomboy’s voice was lightly amused. “Jesus, Tombstone get your head in the game.”
“Okay, I just wanted to never mind.” Now was not the time; then again, there might never be a decent time to discuss it, not after the blunder he’d just made with his new bride. “Where did you say that UAV was?”
“There.” Tomboy inserted a special target designator in his heads-up display. “Our only chance to keep Batman from using the UAV is to go after the target ourselves. You know that, I know that. Let’s get moving.” Her crisp tone of voice brooked no argument.
Tombstone corrected his course and bore in on the Cuban naval base.
“Trouble,” Tomboy announced calmly. “Stoney, I’m getting targeting indications from the carrier. I think they’re talking to our little unmanned friend over there. Now if I see there it goes. It’s changing course, Stoney, climbing, getting some altitude.”
“How far behind us is it?” he asked.
‘Ten miles now.”
He shook his head. Not enough time. Air distance, in this case, though in the arcane geometry of the sky, time, and distance seemed to merge into a single lethal pucker factor.
How much fuel did the UAV have left on board? Would it be able to accelerate to a max cruising speed of Mach 3, or would it have to choose a more fuel-efficient speed?
That depended on how long it had already been in the air, and whether he’d be required to make any other moves to avoid detection. Two other factors he didn’t know.
Damn it. Batman, you could have told me. It might have given me an edge might even have talked me out of this last-ditch effort. As it stands now, I have no choice about it.
If I can stop you from making a possible nuclear strike on Cuba, I have to. The EMP-we’ll kill more of our own pilots than the Cubans can.
“You know, there’s one other possibility,” his backseater said. “This UAV may not even be under Batman’s control.
Remember the arguments on installing that remote targeting and firing option on the Arsenal ship? Sure, they would have needed some cooperation from Arsenal to launch UAV, but what if all targeting and deployment control is directly under JCS now? Arsenal may have some relay communications gear or some other way to override, but I doubt it. That’s what the politicos would have wanted direct control over the missiles once they’re launched. That turns the whole carrier battle group into just a remote control weapons launch platform, doesn’t it? Next thing you know, they’ll be able to fly an F-14 off the deck with the pilot sitting in it like a monkey. I don’t like this one little bit.”
Tombstone considered the matter. “It’s possible, I suppose.” Even as he admitted it. Tomboy’s explanation seemed more and more probable.
“If Batman’s not controlling it, you can bet he’ll be on the circuit telling JCS we’re inbound on the target. Might make them abort the launch.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Tomboy answered. “The hard way.”